The Imladris Insanity Syndrome
by Kellen
Summary: Estel and Legolas return from a hunting trip to find the twins up to their old tricks. Fiwen finds the foulest creature she's ever encountered, and Eldabeth resolves never to visit Imladris again. Involves mud, blood, sleeping draughts, and more mud.
1. Part One

The Imladris Insanity Syndrome

Chapter One: The Set-Up

Author: Kellen

Feedback: Please. _kellenanneyahoo.com_

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are not mine; I am merely playing. Fiwen, Mariel and Eldabeth belong to me, however. Should you wish to borrow them, I am amenable. Just ask. (Not that I think anyone would ever want to borrow them; I however do wish to cover my bases.)

Summary: Estel and Legolas come back from a hunting trip to find the twins up to their old tricks. Fiwen finds the foulest creature she's ever encountered and Eldabeth makes a not-so-startling discovery. Involves mud, blood, sleeping draughts and more mud. Patented Kellen wackiness... I was in a mood. LoL.

Rating: PG

A/N: Be warned: This came about because of many long boring days at work and because of Cassia and Sio's "Siege of Dread". Yes, yes, I know... SoD was a serious story, but during Elrond's fight with the orcs in Imladris, the phrase "orc in the pantry" struck me and this was the result. This is the first of two chapters. The second will be out soon, entitled "The Clean-Up".

Do enjoy.

It wasn't the mud that bothered the twins so much, despite the fact that it covered them completely. Mud was mud, and could be cleaned. Unfortunately, Erestor nor the elleth with the broom that had watched them track the thick stuff into Elrond's house weren't so blase' in their attitude.

"Stop, the both of you." Erestor grabbed the broom from the stunned girl's grasp and stalked toward the twins. "What are you doing? The Mirkwood delegation is still here!"

Elrohir -- at least Erestor thought it was him -- snorted. "'Mirkwood delegation'? Erestor, have you gone mad?"

At that, Elladan -- maybe Elladan -- chimed in. "Since when do a few warriors and one Lady make a delegation?"

"And when was the last time we actually stood on protocol with any of the royalty of Mirkwood?"

Erestor resolved to stop bobbing his head back and forth to keep up with the twins and instead stared at a point between them. He brandished the broom, tapping the twin on the left in the chest with it. "Be clean," he ordered. The broom moved to the other twin. "And keep the floors clean."

Elrohir smirked and glanced at his brother. "Too late," they chimed, sounding every bit the elflings they were centuries removed from.

Erestor's eyes narrowed. "Where else have you been?"

"Oh, around," Elladan said nonchalantly, waving the question away.

"What have you done?" Dread made itself know in Erestor's tone. "Valar, elflings, what have you done?"

Elrohir grinned, white teeth standing out sharply against the dark mud. "Nothing we've never done before."

The broom fell from Erestor's grasp, clattering loudly on the floor. Eyes wide, he turned on the maid still standing in the hall behind him (and looking faintly annoyed; she was still awaiting the return of her broom). "Search the house," he ordered gruffly. "Find out what they've done," he struggled to be heard over the sounds of laughter from the twins. To Erestor's mind, the laughter had a definite demonic tone to it.

* * *

Elrond regarded the Lady of Mirkwood with a compassionate gaze. Eldabeth, granddaughter to Thranduil, niece to Legolas, had come for three important reasons. She delivered a message for her uncle, who stayed to visit in Rivendell and was currently out riding with Estel. So far, with Legolas gone, the message had gone undelivered as of yet. She came also of her own accord, fulfilling a request made of Elrond not long ago to learn what she could of some healing techniques and herbal remedies.

She also came to prove to her rather overprotective king and grandfather that she could handle being out of Mirkwood's borders. Eldabeth intended to prove to Thranduil that she could leave the palace and be safe.

Now she sat across from Elrond, fingering a somewhat frayed bandage over her forearm and learning firsthand of some of his healing techniques and herbal remedies.

"How do you fare, Lady?"

Elrond's soft question jerked Eldabeth out of her reverie. She deliberately quit mussing the bandage and set her hands in her lap. "Well, my lord. Well indeed."

Elrond made a noncommittal sound deep in his throat. "Well enough to start home?"

Eldabeth gave him a sharp look. "I think it would be best, Lord Elrond, if I waited until all evidence of foul play is gone before facing my daeradar."

"I thought as much." He pinned her with a calculating look. "The poisons are not completely gone. You are to rest. Legolas and Estel should be back before dinner tonight, barring any unfortunate incidents."

"Like a warg pack?" Eldabeth asked, hiding a grin.

Elrond nodded in acquiesence. "Of course, not the same pack your party came across in the pass?"

"No, my lord," Eldabeth's voice was dripping with too much innocence. "My party can handle warg packs. Even the Lady of Mirkwood killed one."

Elrond did not point out that, according to her guards, it had been purely accidental and Eldabeth had lost the dagger given to her by Thranduil. He did, however, give her a dubious look. She wilted.

"Please do not tell daerada that there were wargs."

Elrond sighed; Eldabeth was giving him the look. The look that all females of any species learned, and learned well. The look that had the male of the species was helpless to resist. "Of course not, Eldabeth." He sighed again, knowing he, wise healer and accomplished warrior, was defeated. "Stay," he said. "Enjoy the hospitality of Imladris. I want to look at your arm again before dinner. I've some herbal techniques that might interest you, and what better way to learn than to feel the effects of the medicines."

Eldabeth carefully kept a neutral expression, though Elrond could see her pale face whitening further. Maintaining his stoic countenance, he grinned inside. No one ever wanted to be the experiment; they always wanted to do the experimenting, and Elrond congratulated himself. Perhaps he wasn't defeated after all. The girl was speechless.

* * *

Elrond headed for the apothecary, intending to gather as many different medicines as he could find that could be safely used on Eldabeth's rather spetacular gash. It had been a long while since he'd had students and he honestly couldn't remember a time when the student was also the victim. Aside from the instances where Estel or the twins had been learning the techniques and had been injured -- they had always been a little too injured to appreciate the skill inherent in their healing -- Eldabeth's predicament afforded a unique opportunity.

You could tell a person over and over again what a particular herb does, but until they feel all the effects and side effects, they really didn't have a grasp over it.

Elrond stopped in mid-step, nearly tripping over his own feet, as he realized just how completely sadistic he sounded.

Sighing and shaking his head, he started forward again, a little to preoccupied to notice the muddy handprints on the apothecary door. He pushed the door open and his world disappeared.

* * *

Fiwen rounded the last corner before coming to the apothecary, holding her right hand tightly in her left. When the shears slipped as she trimmed parts of her gardens, she honestly hadn't noticed she'd sliced open her palm until after she'd managed to smear blood on her cheek. When the contact was made, the pain flared and had brought tears to Fiwen's eyes. Then, the bleeding had become heavier and heavier and Fiwen had actually become a little frightened at the amount. Now, pain seemed to have increased along with blood flow and she decided to abandon her gardening efforts for bandaging efforts.

Her eyes narrowed as the door came into view. Muddy handprints? And judging by the sight, fairly recent handprints. Fiwen eyed the gloppy mess uncertainly before approaching the door slowly. She turned the handle and gently pushed the door open. Thick mud squished and glopped in the door jamb and Fiwen's nose wrinkled. How in all of Arda did mud manage to coat the entire inside of the door? She stepped inside, her foot slipping a little as she stepped on a floor coated thickly with mud.

She gazed upon the mess, wide-eyed. "This must have taken hours."

"And it will take many more to clean." The voice held a dangerous twinge.

Fiwen started; she did not recognize the voice immediately and turned to face the other occupant of the mud splattered room. She expected an elf, perhaps with some mud smudges here or there, considering the state of the apothecary's entry. She did not, however, expect something that looked as if it crawled out of the Dead Marshes. Mud pooled around its feet. Slime covered it from head to toe, and it wore a particularly frightening grimace. Fiwen shrieked and stumbled backward, one thought stuck in her mind. _Orc in the apothecary. Orc. How did an orc get here? _Her foot slipped in the mud and she fell hard. Without thinking, she put her right hand down to catch herself and yelped at both the shock of her entire weight landing on her wrist and arm and at the sudden pressure upon her gashed palm. Her arm folded under her and the back of her head hit the tile hard enough that the ceiling above her swam, seeming to want to drop down on her.

Would that it would. Mayhaps it would take the orc out as well.

The orc started toward her. _Moving in for the kill,_ Fiwen thought, and try as she might, she really couldn't muster any sort of defense beyond weakly scrabbling backward. Her left hand, groping in the mud for some sort of purchase, found instead a thin stick. Thinking perhaps it was better than nothing, she grabbed it and quickly held it in front of herself, flinging mud upward to splatter against the creature's face. It winced and sighed.

Fiwen did too, as she regarded the thin, gnarled stick. _Maybe I can poke its eye._

"Are you all right?"

It sounded...concerned? The creature from the Dead Marshes was asking if she was all right, and there was concern in its voice?

Its voice... Its voice was familiar.

Fiwen regarded the stick. _Perhaps I can poke my own eyes out while I'm at it._ How was she ever supposed to tell Lord Elrond she thought he was a foul creature from a stinking bog? "Oh, fine," she breathed. She winced, dispelling the image of "fine".

"Did you hurt yourself?" Elrond knelt next to her. "You fell hard."

"Yes, I know," she said without malice.

Elrond's lips quirked (though under all the mud, it really was rather hard to tell if it was a smile or frown) and he put an arm around Fiwen's shoulders as he helped her to stand. Upon standing, she swayed, hands to her side and still grasping the stick. Elrond took it from her. "This is not a very effective weapon."

She shrugged, trying to get her rather frantic breathing under control. "It's what I found." She paused. "I had hopes of poking out an eye," she added sheepishly.

"You dodged the question, Fiwen."

"Yes, my lord."

Elrond narrowed his eyes, and Fiwen was caught between outright laughter and fright at the look of the Lord of Imladris so completely covered in mud as to disguise him completely. He had no need to speak, for Fiwen knew well that she was annoying him and to annoy him meant trouble.

"I came here to clean and bandage my hand," she explained, holding up her hand and grimacing as the coating of mud in the stinging cut. "Aye, my lord, I fell hard, but 'tis only bruises, I think."

Elrond regarded her thoughtfully for a moment, then decided to trust her diagnosis. "I think we both need to get cleaned up."

Fiwen nodded. "What happened in here?"

"My first guess would be Elladan and Elrohir."

There was silence for a moment before Fiwen spoke, obviously not thinking of the consequences of threatening her lord's sons. "I'll kill them."

"Not before I do."

"Yes, my lord."

Fiwen preceded Elrond out of the apothecary, both stepped gingerly to avoid crashing to the floor. They'd only gone a few steps when they heard an indignant shout echo behind them. They halted and turned, Fiwen slipping behind Elrond in hopes that Erestor would not see her, and would therefore not assign her any extra tasks in reparation for dirtying the floor.

"Stop right there, the both of you." Erestor strode toward them, dark hair flying.

Elrond considered the angry lines adorning his advisor's face and had a moment in which he seriously considered laying all blame on Fiwen. Just stepping aside, pointing and saying clearly and concisely, "she did it." Instead, he tried to give Erestor a suitably superior look -- which he knew was somewhat muted by the mud on his face -- and said "They did it."

Erestor nodded. "I see you found the mud."

Elrond barely refrained from wiping his face with his hands. He'd already tried it a few times and since his hands held as much dirt as his face, it really was rather counterproductive. "Do we know it was them?"

"Oh, yes." Erestor punctuated his statement with a nod. "Oh, yes, indeed."

Elrond turned. "Fiwen, would you mind not cleaning up just yet? We'll get your hand bandaged, but I've other plans."

Fiwen grinned. "As my lord wishes." She laughed.

Erestor promptly decided it was a singularly evil sound. He almost felt sorry for the twins.

Almost.

* * *

Estel and Legolas fairly flew up the steps into the main house at Imladris. Legolas reached the door first and ducked inside, giving Estel a smug look. Estel slid in a moment later, breathing hard.

"Never challege a wood Elf to a race through the trees, Estel. Have you not learned that by now?"

"Shut --" Estel drew another breath, "--your mouth."

"And he speaks to a prince of Mirkwood so imperiously. Did you not learn manners, dear boy?"

"Not -- lack of -- trying," Estel panted.

Legoals laughed. "Impertinant human."

"Yes," Estel responded. "Wouldn't have it any other way, either. Is it just me, or is it entirely too quiet here?"

Legolas blinked at the abrupt subject change, but shrugged. "It is not my realm."

"So you've no idea?" Estel glared at the prince. "You are absolutely no help at all."

Legolas just shrugged again. "Someone's coming this way."

Estel shot another look at him. "Yes, I heard."

The elf snorted. "Of course you did."

Estel turned in time to see Eldabeth, Lady of Mirkwood, coming down the corridor toward them. "Legolas," she called.

The blond elf raised an eyebrow. "When did you come in, dear lady?"

"I've a message for you," she replied as she stopped in front of them. "In my bag upstairs. Have you seen Lord Elrond?"

Legolas shook his head, nonplussed. Why was it that everyone he was around was prone to rather abrupt subject changes?

"Wha--"

Legolas leaned in close to Estel. "Monosyllabic," he warned.

Estel snorted. "And why would be be looking for Elrond?"

Eldabeth was suddenly glad her hands rested behind her back; if Legolas saw the bandage... "He promised to show me some herbal techniques before dinner. I was to meet him at the apothecary, but all I find is a mountain of mud and no Lord of Imladris." Her brow furrowed. "And what could be construed as either clumsiness or signs of a struggle, I'm not sure. I've been unable to find anyone until I crossed paths with the two of you."

Estel exchanged a worried glance with Legolas. "Go to the kitchens, Eldabeth. Should you happen upon anyone, send them for Glorfindel. He should be on the training grounds."

Eldabeth nodded, spun on her heel, and strode away. Legolas watched her go, then turned to Estel. "Was her arm bandaged?"

Estel shrugged. "I'm more worried about Ada. The last time he was late for an appointment the twins had pulled something that backfired rather spectacularly and Glorfindel ended up half-sick while Ada couldn't see straight for two weeks."

"I resolve not to ask," Legolas muttered. "Really. I'm not asking." He continued this mantra all the way to the apothecary.

* * *

Fiwen walked quickly, absently fingering the bandage on her right hand. Blood and mud was still smeared across her face, her dress was more brown and black than the pale blue it had been and her hair was a wiry, dirty mess with more than a few twigs adorning it. She frowned. At least it wasn't purple.

If she wasn't mistaken, her quarry was around somewhere close, watching the commotion with sadistic glee.

She stopped in the middle of the great lobby, hands fisted in her skirts and yelled. "Elladan! Elrohir! You're to come to the kitchens. Right away, my lords."

Elrohir materialized beside her. "What happened to you?"

She held back a sneer. "Take a wild guess, my lord."

"You are bordering on insubordination, Fiwen." This from Elladan, who appeared out of the shadows on Fiwen's other side.

"My apologies, my lords. I am merely..." she struggled for words.

"Stressed?"

"Overwhelmed?"

Fiwen held up a hand -- the bandaged right one. Despite their playfulness, Elrohir caught her wrist and eyed the bandage with concern. "What happened?"

"You are hurting me," Fiwen said mildly. "My wrist is sprained."

Elrohir dropped her wrist. Elladan took up the line of questioning. "What happened?"

Fiwen rolled her eyes; between the two of them asking three times, surely they could come up with a variety of ways to ask the same question. "I slipped in the mud."

She was instantly rewarded when shame colored both faces. Fiwen sighed. "Kitchens, please, my lords."

Elladan shook his head, but it was Elrohir who spoke. "Are you crazy? I'm not walking into a trap I know you helped set up."

Fiwen sighed. "My lords, weary as I am of your pranks, I am more weary and hurt than to be deviously minded. Mariel wishes to see you because she's concocted a new pastry recipe and wishes you to try it. She merely asked me to relay the message since I was on my way home anyway."

Elrohir brightened. "Well, if that's the case..." With that, he and Elladan disappeared again.

Fiwen sighed again. One of these days, she thought. One of these days, she will run out of patience and merely hack at them with a sword.

* * *

"Fiwen?"

"What happened?"

Oh, she was tired of those words. She turned, identifying the speakers as Estel and Legolas. "Your brothers," she said shortly.

"They caused trouble without us?"

Her patience was going. She nodded. "As they had been for years before your arrival."

"What did they do?"

"Estel, suffice it to say that they have crossed a line, and that Lord Elrond is not happy and has enlisted the help of Mariel to exact a revenge they will not soon forget."

Estel nodded, not even pretending to understand all of that. "So the next stage of events should happen in the kitchen?"

Fiwen nodded. "Yes, my lord."

"Don't 'my lord' me," Estel murmured as he gestured Legolas to follow him to the kitchen. Fiwen followed them; there was no way she was missing this.

* * *

Eldabeth hurried into the kitchens and nearly ran into the elf that eyed the muddy counters with disgust. Elrond had a handtowel which was now coated in mud, but at least his face was recognizable again. Eldabeth stopped just inside the door, shook her head, decided all of Imladris was bordering on the insane, and made her way deeper into the kitchen. "My lord," she questioned tentatively.

"Ah, dear Lady," Elrond said, smiling. "My apologies for missing our appointment. It seems we had some developments."

Eldabeth merely nodded. Elrond turned his attention back to Mariel. "Thank you, Mariel."

The cook smiled and nodded. "It is good to finally get some revenge, I think," she said. "The twins have caused me much grief over the years."

"Your father as well, I'm sure," Elrond added.

Mariel nodded.

Eldabeth shook her head. She scanned the counter, found a cup full of water and reached for it. She suddenly needed a drink. Something stronger than water would have been ideal, but water worked. She suddenly found her hand smack by a wooden spoon. "That's not for you." 

Eldabeth glared at Mariel. "You struck me."

"Aye I did."

Eldabeth blinked at the honesty. "You struck me with a spoon."

"Yes."

Eldabeth considered pulling a "don't-you-know-who-I-am?" routine, but just shook her head, chalked it up to the Imladris Insanity Syndrome and backed away.

Laughter echoed in the hallway and Elrond winked at Mariel before disappearing. No sooner than he had left, twins burst through the kitchen doors. Mariel moved around the counter to hide the mudstains that marked where Elrond had stood. "Boys!" she cried. "Fiwen sent you? I've something just for you two. I've been working on this for ages." As she spoke she scooped two pastries dripping with honey onto a plate and handed it to Elrohir, who took one and handed the plate to Elladan. "There's water there to wash it down, my lords."

Elrohir took a bite and swallowed with some difficulty. Too sweet. Too much honey. It stuck to his mouth like glue. Watching Mariel beam at him, though, he merely grinned.

"What?" Estel cried as he came in the door. "Treats for them, and not me? Mariel? How could you?"

Mariel's moment of panic was neatly covered up by Fiwen. "She didn't know you were back, my lord."

"Quit 'my lording' my all the time, would you, Fiwen?" Estel went back to speaking with Mariel as the twins devoured the pastries and reached for the water.

Fiwen leaned forward. "Prince Legolas, please. You must distract Estel," she whispered. "He mustn't eat the pastries nor drink the water."

Legolas raised an eyebrow. "Fiwen?"

The maid looked somewhat panicked. "The pranks are back in full force, my lord. Estel, for once, was innocent. I'd not like to see him suffer the same fate as his brothers."

Legolas didn't give it a moment's thought. "Estel," he called. It wasn't until Estel looked at him, question written across his face that Legolas realized he didn't have a reason to be calling his name.

"What?" he said absentmindedly as he picked up one of the cups and drank deeply.

Fiwen groaned. Elladan, about to drink from the other cup, stopped. "What's wrong, Fiwen?"  
  
Elrohir turned, trying to swallow the sickly sweet pastry. "Fiwen?" he said, his mouth still full. "I thought you were going home."

Realizing she'd just given herself away, Fiwen fled.

Legolas stepped to the side, ready to disappear should anything ... foul... happen.

Elladan and Elrohir blinked, realizing they were the target.

Elrond stifled a groan from his shadowed corner.

Mariel went the way of Fiwen and quickly made herself scarce.

Estel collapsed, dead to the world.

Eldabeth resolved never to visit Imladris again.

* * *

"So, what was in that concoction?"

Elrond looked across the now cleared kitchen at Legolas. The twins, feeling somewhat guilty, had carried the asleep Estel to his bed and had resolved to make some sort of reparation to Fiwen. Mariel had been absolved of any part in the crime and Elrond still had not made his presence known to his sons, but apparently his hiding place was not good enough to keep Legolas from seeing him. "Something that will keep him asleep for the time being."

"How long?"

"Not too terribly long. A few hours. It was designed to keep the twins out of the way while we cleaned up the mud they've invariably have hidden in strategic places around the house."

Legolas smiled. "It seems that perhaps it may have served its purpose after all. The twins are busy keeping Estel company and making peace with Fiwen and Erestor."

Elrond nodded, conceding the point. He stepped out of the shadows. "I feel somewhat... dirty," he said.

Legolas couldn't help it; he laughed. And he laughed. And he kept laughing long after Elrond had shot him "The Look" and left the kitchen.

TBC...


	2. Part Two

_The Imladris Insanity Syndrome_

_Part 2: The Clean Up _

_or How to Annoy an Already Annoyed Elf Lord..._

_Summary: After the twins pull something that has the household beyond irritated, the clean up turns into chaos overshadowing the original prank. Before long, the twins are mending their ways, Estel is loopy, Legolas tries to hold everything together and the Lord of Imladris is ... dying? _

_Rating: PG_

_Feedback: Please. kellenanneyahoo.com or on-list_

_Disclaimer: I own my characters, but seeing as how they are created with Tolkein's world in mind, his estate might could put up an argument to ownership of those as well... Interesting debate, that would be... Anyway, this is written purely for enjoyment (my own, and yours as well, I hope.)_

_A/N: Oh, come on! Kellen fic. That means author's note, and that usually means I can't possibly shut up. Anyway, story history: During moving, a number of the strangest things can happen, and they usually involve injuries and confusion. Especially when you are moving furniture up a flight of stairs. I swear, anyone who is a klutz should be excused from such work. Of course, no such luck for me, and when moving involves utilizing two brothers with a penchant for pranks (ask me where I get inspiration for Elladan and Elrohir LoL), its just fodder for chaos. And chaos it was, so I am subjecting Imladris to such treatment to make me feel better. After all, I fondly, and firmly, believe that even the wisest, most stoic of us has off days. _

* * *

Most of the elves that inhabited the hidden valley of Rivendell had taken measures to protect themselves from pranks and countermeasures to said pranks gone awry. Many occupants had taken to spending the day out with family picnicking, or closed up in their dwellings. While the courtyard near the lord of the valley's home was usually full of elves enjoying the gardens, today it was nearly empty. No one wanted to tempt fate by being out in the open when the sons of Elrond sought entertainment, and when those affected looked upon the sons of Elrond for revenge.

Unfortunately, some elves couldn't escape.

Elrond, not for the first time in his long life, sorely wished he were just an ordinary elf, to whom no responsibilities had been bequeathed. Usually, when he thought such thoughts, they were immediately precluded by battle or some such equally as horrible a thing.

He couldn't remember a time when he'd thought that while roaming his own house, using a broom handle to push open doors, splattered with mud - some dry, some oozing, and cursing vehemently under his breath. With a sturdy shove, he pushed open a door, ready to jump at the slightest hint of trouble. A gentle creaking from above the door warned him only a second before the contraption gave and the torrent of mud came down. Long accustomed to keeping his presence of mind in battle, Elrond merely leapt backward, issuing the mud a withering glance as it hit the floor and spread into the hallway. The mud that had dried on his clothes reacted to the rather rapid movement by issuing off of him in droves of dust.

And Elrond did something he hadn't done in many years.

He sneezed.

Fighting the urge to sneeze again and again, he closed his eyes against the sudden burning there, and called over his shoulder. "I found another one."

With another sneeze -- one that seemed to rock the very foundations of Imladris -- he went on his way, clutching the broom.

* * *

Fiwen glared at her lord's back, ready to smooth her features the instant he turned around if he did at all. She might have muttered had she forgotten that elven hearing would certainly have picked up her words. With a final glare, she turned back to the cart full of cleaning supplies and noisily assembled the rags and soap needed for this mess.

"Found another one." She slammed a bottle of soap down after wetting her rag with it. "Of course. Did we think there would not be more?" Fiwen drug a full pail of water along the floor toward the mess, sloshing water over the sides. "You found another one. Of course _you_ found it." Angrily, she dunked a rag, sending soapy water splattering onto the walls. "You did _delegate_ didn't you? Leave the nasty work to us peons to clean up after your..." Here she stopped and stood up to retrieve more rags from her cart. "..._sons_!" Her foot came down in a puddle of her own making and she slipped, falling backward yet again. With a gasp, she hit the floor and as she struggled to breathe, she shook the sodden rag in her hand at the ceiling, inwardly railing against the injustice of it all.

* * *

It was cold. That's all Estel knew. As feeling and awareness returned to him, all other sensations were drowned out by the overwhelming cold that threatened to engulf him. Despite an innate weariness, he started to panic, and with a groan of protest, he shot up, suddenly sitting up in his own bed.

His movement startled the elf sitting in the chair next to him and Legolas sat up as quickly as Estel did, instinctively looking around for danger lurking in the shadows. When nothing presented itself, he turned a confused gaze upon the man. "Estel?"

Estel was currently blinking drug-induced sleep from his eyes and pulling blankets nearer to him. He didn't acknowledge the elf.

"Estel?" This time louder.

With a start, Estel turned to Legolas. "Cold," he said through chattering teeth.

Legolas' eyes narrowed and he resolved to find Elrond as soon as he had made Estel comfortable. The temperature, while somewhat mild, was not even what a man would call cold. "Come," he told Estel. "By the fire. It's warmer there." With that, the elf helped the man off the bed and settled him on a settee near the fireplace. Before long, Legolas had a small fire roaring.

The man relaxed, still cold, but knowing the fire would evenutally warm him up.

That is, it would were it bigger, he thought with a frown. He scooted closer, trying to soak up the warmth. Legolas laid a restraining hand upon his shoulder. "Don't burn yourself." Estel frowned at him, and turned his gaze back to the flames.

Bigger. Better. Warmer. His teeth chattered. He wouldn't be warm until that fire got bigger.

His addled mind never thought to ask Legolas to stoke up the fire.

* * *

Elladan backed up, out of the way of the wildy swinging wooden spoon, and ran into Elrohir's chest. "Mariel," he said pleadingly, holding up his hands in an effort to placate her.

To put it mildly, it wasn't working.

Mariel was in full lecture mode, a wonderful thing she'd learned from her father -- the infamous Cook who'd cooked up the whole cheese incident. Since Cook was away, in Lorien visiting other family and friends, Mariel had taken over the kitchen and the whole of Rivendell had sighed a sort of relief that Cook wouldn't be subjecting any poor elf to fits of lecture or humor.

Unfortunately, not many took into account Mariel could be just as bad.

The twins were bordering on declaring her worse and retrieving Cook from Lorien themselves.

Elladan ducked a swing of the spoon. It swung past his head and he winced to hear a smack and Elrohir's yelp as it connected with the younger twin's nose. Mariel didn't seem to notice; she was in full lecturing-with-full-use-of-hands-for-emphasis mode.

"I cannot believe the two of you," she ground out. "Have you no sense of dignity?"

Elladan said the words along with her quietly. Elrohir glared at her from behind his hands as he clutched his bruised nose.

"What of chivalry? Poor Fiwen has borne nothing but the brunt of your jokes."

Elrohir narrowed his eyes; he could only think of a couple instances when Fiwen managed to get involved and she was always devious minded enough to give as good as she got.

"And your father!" Mariel sounded positively scandalized. "Covered in so much mud as to make a warg look clean." She swung the spoon to emphasize her point, and both twins managed to duck. "You invariable cause such trouble, and now you've done it when we have royalty from Mirkwood visiting."

"Mariel," Elladan said loudly enough to get her attention, "you hit the Lady Eldabeth with that spoon."

Elrohir nodded vehemently. "Royalty," he managed to wheeze, "from Mirkwood, and you saw no need to stand on ceremony."

Mariel blinked as her ire rose. Now she weilded the spoon as a weapon. Knowing she was infinitely more dangerous now -- Mariel knew how to use that spoon -- Elladan and Elrohir fled the kitchen.

Within moments, they had slowed their pace and were exchanging amused glances, when they were nearly bowled over by a near frantic blond.

"Legolas?"

The prince of Mirkwood looked up.

"You look hopelessly lost," Elladan said.

"Don't look for direction in the kitchen. You're liable to smacked by a wooden spoon."

Legolas opened his mouth, nearly telling them what was wrong before eyeing Elrohir and mouthing "wooden spoon?" He shook his head. "You've been annoying the cook again, haven't you?"

"No, we've been annoying Mariel."

Legolas eyed Elladan. "Yes. The cook."

"No," Elrohir said. "Mariel."

Legolas blinked. "Isn't she the cook?"

"Well, she cooks," Elladan stated, "but she's not the cook."

"Cook's in Lorien."

Legolas furrowed his brow. "She cooks in Lorien? Why is she here?"

"Mariel's never been to Lorien, has she, El?"

"I don't think so," Elrohir replied.

"But you just..." Legolas shook his head. "Never mind. Have you seen Estel?"

Elrohir groaned. "Have you checked his bed? He was out."

"Was. He woke up."

"Really?" Elladan perked up. "No permanent damage, then."

At that, Legolas adopted a confused expression. "That remains to be seen."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, he woke up and complained of being cold, so I sat him down by the fireplace."

"I'm following you so far," Elladan said, quietly concerned for the man. "What happened?"

"He was asleep."

Elrohir exchanged a glance with his brother. "Yes, we knew that. Then he woke up, right?"

"No."

"No?"

"Well, yes, because he's gone now."

Elladan blinked. "Start over again, from where you said he woke up."

"He fell asleep."

"No, not there," Elrohir said. "He woke up."

Legolas dearly wanted to find a wooden spoon; perhaps smacking them both across the nose would knock their minds into gear again. "And then he fell asleep."

"Before or after he woke up?"

"After!"

"Oh," Elladan said, nodding. "So, he was asleep, he woke up, he fell asleep."

Legolas nodded.

"Why didn't you just say that?" Elrohir asked, all too innocently.

Instead of rising to the bait, Legolas finished his story through grit teeth. "He fell asleep in front of the fire. I did, too. I woke up. He was gone. I am worried."

"Short," Elladan said appovingly.

"Succint," Elrohir responded.

"I like that," they said together.

Seeing they were leaving a less than happy prince of Mirkwood in their wake, Elladan smiled. "We'll look for him in the courtyard and gardens."

"Anywhere outside, away from those we have angered."

"I wouldn't know why they feel the way they do," Elladan mused.

Legolas laughed. It was a short, barking, near-mad laugh, and the twins, for the second time in only minutes, fled from the presence of another elf.

* * *

Elrond rounded a corner, broom still in hand, and blissfully unaware of Fiwen's earlier transgressions against him. What he was aware of, however, was his twin sons approaching from the other direction. He opened his mouth to speak to them, but instead of the voice that put fear into a thousand dark hearts, a sneeze issued forth. Not being at all prepared, Elrond knocked his nose against the broom handle and was instantly alarmed as he felt blood gather and start to trickle from his nostrils. _Well, this was getting better and better._

His sons, though, were not looking in his direction and had only looked up after they heard the sneeze.

The sight that greeted them chased away all thoughts of pranks or causing chaos. It even drove all thought of Estel from their minds.

Elrond stood in the hallway, having just sneezed, looking somewhat alarmed and pained with blood draining in a steady trickle from his nose.

"Ada?" Elladan questioned timidly. "Are you all right?"

Elrond dropped a withering look upon them, not knowing that with the alarm and pain that had crossed his features, it just made him look to be in even more pain. "Of course not, child."

Then, Elrohir said the stupidest thing available to him. "You are covered in mud, Ada."

Incredulous, Elladan looked at his twin as Elrond's gaze snapped to the younger of the two. "Well, of course, Elrohir. Did you honestly think your little fun would not touch all the members of this household?" He sneezed again -- that dust had apparently settled down permanently in his nose -- and gestured at the two until he could speak again without fear of sneezing again. "Even this is your fault."

Both twins had the same thought, and they knew they did.

_"Sweet Eru, I've killed Ada."_

Blood drained from their faces. Their mouths hung open and their eyes widened. Elrond, for the life of him, could not figure our why, but let it go. Whatever it was, it served them right for making his home look like Dagorlad, the Day After. With a final glance at the twins, he turned on his heel and left them to their thoughts.

* * *

"Fiwen!"

"You have to help us."

"We killed Ada."

If the first two exclamations didn't get her attention, the third certainly did. Fiwen stopped with her rag halfway to her bucket. "Come again? Elrohir, what?"

"He sneezed."

"And he said it was our fault."

Fiwen rocked back on her heels. "Contrary to popular believe, my lords, elves have been known to sneeze."

"Fiwen," Elladan said.

She looked up and frowned at the tears she saw in the twin's eyes. "You're serious," she said.

Elrohir nodded. "Absolutely."

"You killed him?"

"We just talked to him."

Fiwen frowned. "Then he's not dead, then, is he, if you talked to him."

"Yet," Elladan nearly wailed.

"You're a healer, Fiwen. Do something."

Despite everything, Fiwen felt a surge of compassion. "Elrohir, yes I have studied healing, but I am nowhere near the caliber of you or your father or Lord Estel."

"Yes, but Ada will not let us anywhere near him, and Estel is indisposed." Elladan offered a tremulous smile. "You have a knowledge of herbs and their uses that rivals Ada's."

Fiwen shook her head. "Flattered as I am, that is not quite true." She sighed. "What would you have me do?"

"Find out what's wrong." Elladan took the rag from her hand. "We will clean while you do this."

Fiwen blinked. The twins offered to clean up their own mess? This was serious indeed. Swiftly, she rose to her feet and practically ran down the hallway.

* * *

Still cold. Estel, with shaking hands -- and a still addled mind, gathered the materials he need for a big fire. He needed to warm up, and he'd found the perfect place. It was the Hall of Fire, after all.

It just needed a bigger fire.

He shoved a chair into the center of the room and piled wood upon it. He hitched his blanket up on his shoulders as he looked about the room. Smiling in anticipation of the warmth, he found a few books here and there. He ripped the pages to use the paper for kindling.

This would be a fine fire indeed.

Estel tapped his fingers against his thigh. Flint. He needed flint. He slipped out of the door to find some.

* * *

Legolas was getting increasingly worried. He's spoken to Eldabeth, who upon learning that Estel was about and that the twins were still in the house, had adamantly refused to leave her room. While he understood that Imladris sometimes was turned upside down by the actions, he certainly did not understand her reaction. He shook his head; best not to dwell on it.

"Estel?" he called.

When that didn't garner an answer, he continued down the hallway, hoping for a glimpse of the man. He was rewarded for his patience. Within moments, he saw a flash of dark hair and a blanket. Legolas followed.

In a few moments, he was upon his prey and he reached out a hand and grabbed the person's upper arm. The moment he clasped the arm, he knew... This wasn't Estel.

Mariel let out a rather indignant cry as she was spun around.

"You aren't Estel," was all Legolas could think to say.

Mariel shook her head.

Mustering every bit of regality he could, Legolas gestured. "Continue," he said imperiously.

With a huff, she did.

Legolas continued his search.

* * *

"Fiwen, do I look dead to you?" She shook her head, mouth opening and closing as she sought desparately for something to say. "Or even remotely sick?" Again, a vehement shake of the head -- had she been able to speak, she might have proclaimed he looked angry enough use Hadhafang on her. Or, just forget Hadhafang; he might snap her neck bare-handed.

This was her reward for approaching Lord Elrond on behalf of his worried sons. She could feel her face pale; it wasn't often that her liege was this angry with her and she dearly hated it.

"Whatever gave you the idea I needed attention?"

Fiwen swallowed a couple times before trying to speak. "Sneezes," she said quietly. "Your sons. They heard you sneezing."

"Fiwen, I have been sneezing all day."

She flinched as he raised his voice. She tried to apologize, but the words just would not come._ I want to be cleaning mud, I want to be cleaning mud, I want to be cleaning mud..._ The mantra rang through her head, over and over again.

Elrond regarded her a moment and then spoke. He spoke angrily of the days' events, of the mischief his sons caused, of mud and impertinent household staff. It wasn't until after he'd vented horribly on her and on the days events that he realized she was trembling. With a sigh, he spoke again. Anger still echoed in his voice, but the tone was softer. "Fiwen?"

"I want to be cleaning mud."

Of all the responses he'd expected, that was not one of them. "By all means, then, go. Clean mud, if you wish."

She fled.

Elrond watched her go, a bemused expression firmly on his face before shaking his head and wondering just what he was going to do with his sons. Deciding that dwelling on it was not helping, he turned and made his way toward the Hall of Fire. He loved to sit and watch the flames dance. Perhaps it would calm him.

* * *

Elrohir wiped mud from the wall. _"_Elves don't get sick," he pronounced with extreme confidence. After a moment, he frowned. "Do they?"

"Of course not. I think." Elladan answered.

Legolas regarded the twins for a moment before speaking. He'd stumbled upon them cleaning a spectacular mess in a hallway. Served them right, he thought. "What are you on about?"

Elrohir looked up worriedly. "We sent Fiwen to check on Ada."

"I think we killed him somehow."

There was absolute silence for a moment. Then, finally, "Come again?"

"Ada sneezed."

"And there was blood."

Legolas eyed first Elladan, then Elrohir. "So you think he's sick?" Alarm flooded Legolas. Elrond? Sick? This just did not happen. "What happened?"

"I don't know," Elladan said. "We sent Fiwen to talk to him."

They fell silent for a few moments, before Legolas spoke. _"_Peredhel."

"What's that supposed to mean? Do you insult my family?" Elrohir spoke, worry giving an edge to his voice.

"Of course not. I am merely pointing out that mayhaps his human side is exerting itself. Certainly half-elf means something other than eery and strange."

"Now you call him eery and strange?" This was Elladan.

Legolas, sensing he'd probably dug a nice hole for him to lie down in, looked up to order his thoughts. Instead of staring down a mud splattered hallway, he caught sight of the man he'd been looking for. "Estel!" The blond archer was off, nearly knocking over Elladan's water bucket.

Elladan righted the bucket, grimacing as water sloshed over the side.

"We need to talk to Ada."

Elladan nodded. "I'm tired of cleaning."

"Hall of Fire?" Elrohir suggested as he threw down his rag. "We can figure out what we want to say and then approach him."

Elladan stood up. "Sounds like a plan."

* * *

Legolas entered the Hall of Fire just behind Estel, still trying to speak to the man who'd apparently given up on anything resembling communication. Estel didn't say a word, didn't acknowledge Legolas, and made a beeline for a pile of junk in the middle of the room that Elrond was staring at, unable to guess who had done this.

"Estel?"

"He doesn't look to be hearing anything, my lord," Legolas said.

Elrond looked up, eyes narrowed. "Has he said anything?"

Legolas tore his gaze from Estel and the elves were momentarily distracted by their own conversation to pay attention to what Estel was doing. "He seemed to be cold when he first woke, and he's still trembling."

Elrond nodded and smiled grimly. "Wonderful."

"You know what it is, then?"

Elrond nodded. "It will wear off; apparently I misjudged the dosage when I tried to give it to the twins. We just need to keep him from hurting himself."

Legolas nodded. "Shouldn't be too hard."

Their attention was drawn back to Estel by a cackling laugh. Elrond's eyes widened, while Legolas groaned. For a moment, they stood, watching the flames engulf the paper spread meticulously around the chair, before springing into action.

"Put it out," Elrond commanded as he grabbed Estel about the waist to pull him back, and reached for the flint still in Estel's hand.

The man -- addled by drug and cold -- struggled against the grip and managed to lose his balance. He fell backward, landing on Elrond. The impact drove the breath from Elrond's lungs. Estel rolled off him, muttering incoherently as Legolas did his best to put out flames and corral the man.

That was when Elladan and Elrohir walked into the Hall of Fire.

"Ada?"

"Estel?"

"What is happening?" Elladan ran forward to kneel next to Elrond while Elrohir helped Legolas put out the flames.

Legolas shrugged, not inclined to speak since he was currently occupied with trying not to set his clothes on fire.

Elrond, still unable to breathe properly (which sent the twins even closer to panicking), sat up and reached for the blanket that had fell of Estel's shoulders. Elladan grabbed it and draped it over his father. Elrond, with a barely concealed impatient look, shrugged it off and put it over the now-prone Estel.

"Ada," Elrohir said, pleading.

Elrond narrowed his eyes. Enough was enough. Certainly they... no, they wouldn't realize that, he amended. "It was a sneeze. A sneeze," he said, nearly shouting in exasperation.

For a moment, there was silence, before a befuddled Elladan spoke. "The blood?"

Elrond sighed. "I knocked my nose against the broom handle as I sneezed."

Elrohir swallowed with some difficulty. "Really? You're alright?" 

"Yes!"

Elladan searched for something to say. "Estel?"

"Will be fine." Elrond said. "As will I."

Legolas finally managed to put out all the flames, eyeing the pyre suspiciously. "I've heard that, in some cultures a sneeze is a portend of death."

"I knew of a human village that believed that when a person sneezed, their soul was forcibly removed from their body and unless they were blessed immediately, they were forever a pawn of the Shadow," Elrohir offered.

Legolas was silent for a moment. "Humans believe the strangest fairy tales, really."

Elrond shook his head, wondering just how things could get so strange in so short a time. "I'll be taking care of Estel. Elladan, Elrohir, go ..." He eyed them for a moment. "Go... do something constructive." He shook his head.

"Constructive?" Elrohir questioned.

Elrond closed his eyes. "Fiwen has mud that needs cleaned, and the last I saw her, I might think she is in need of help."

"Oh," Elladan said, "constructive."

Elrond shook his head and pulled the blanket up around the already snoring Estel. "Try not to do any damage, or terrorize any of the staff."

Elrohir grimaced. What of the staff terrorizing them?, he nearly asked as he thought of Mariel's wooden spoon.

Elladan half-bowed gracefully. "We will make reparation, Ada."

"Start with Fiwen," Elrond suggested half-seriously. "I think she's snapped."

* * *

"I set _fire_ to the what?"

Legolas regarded his charge, a smile playing about his lips. "The Hall of Fire."

Estel blinked. "Seems fitting, I suppose."

"Lord Elrond was not happy when he discovered some of his oldest books had been used as kindling."

Estel's jaw dropped. "I didn't!"

"You did. Most assuredly, you did. So well, in fact, that the chair has to be thrown out, several books are completely decimated and you used a few of the wooden stools to stoke up the fire."

"No."

"Yes. Broken wooden stools, piled atop one of your Ada's nicest chairs, with irreplacable texts tucked in nicely here and there, in the middle of the room. Considering you were quite mad indeed, I would have to give you credit for at least knowing how to build an effective bonfire."

"No."

Legolas sighed. "Yes. Then, when Lord Elrond tried to pull you away from the flames, you fought him. Knocked his breath clean away when you drove him into the floor."

"Do I dare ask what else happened?" Estel leaned back against the arm of the couch he sprawled on and watched Legolas with trepidation clear on his face.

"Your brothers currently sport bruises that speak of some devilry. Elrohir's nose might be broken. Something to do with a wooden spoon, I think."

"Wooden spoon?"

"Has some to do with your cook who is not the cook who cooks in Lorien but has never been there before."

"You're confusing me."

"No more than I'm doing to myself."

"Go on, then."

"I heard some tale of Elladan getting knocked upside the head by a full water bucket. It is assumed that it is an accident, but I've my own theories, considering it was Fiwen holding the bucket handle when it 'slipped'." Legolas grinned. "Although it is much easier to tell the twins apart now. Elrohir has the broken nose, Elladan, the black eye."

Estel laughed. "Serves 'em right. What of Eldabeth?"

Legolas honestly didn't know whether to laugh or frown, and as a result, his expression grew quite perplexing. "She has locked herself in her room and, last I spoke to the captain of her guard, he said something of her muttering non-stop about insanity that has stricken Imladris."

Estel couldn't help the laughter any more than Legolas.

_THE END_


End file.
